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RHYMES 




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Copyright October 11, 1915 

H. E. SPITSBERGEN 



The looser 

On the altar of another 
Burned the gifts of a good mother ; 
But the gifts no love had won, 
Wasted on a thoughtless son. 
But she gave gifts to the last, 
Saved him from the awful past. 
Touched the goal and then dropped dead- 
Rest a crown upon her head. 

Around him surged the waves of sin. 
Drowning every chance to win ; 
Rowed he still with all his might. 
Rowed until there was no light. 
Till in darkness he went down. 
Spit upon and with a frown — 
Yet he fought with all his might. 
Then, is not a crown his right? 

She was tired, ah, how much ! 
Waiting for a friendly touch- 
Broken was the bowl of life. 
Nothing left but shame and strife ; 
Yet she brought the shattered Iwwl 
With its fragments to the goal : 
But the world gave her a sneer- 
Not a crown, nor any cheer. 

Bruised and tired, and all spent, 

Falling when to win he meant; 

Yet he got up from his face. 

Ran again the hopeless race, 

Touched the line and then dropped dead 

"Surely, 'tis a king," I said; 

But the world turned from his side. 

Every chance of fame denied. 

So it goes in this old world: 
For the winner — banners furled, 
For the loser — scoff and scorn. 
Noting not how he is torn : 
For the winner there's a crown, 
For the loser but a frown : 
Yet the loser there must be 
To bring forth the victory. 

Bluemont 

Here the mountains raise their peaks 
High up to the spacious sky. 

Just as each some loved one seeks, 
Who may beyond the zenith lie. 



lCI,A4140a5 



OCT 14 1915 



Valleys, garments freely spreading, 
Laced with rivers, placid blue. 

Seamed with flowers, perfumes shedding. 
Say, O mountains, we love you. 

Here the clouds in peace abide. 

Gentle zephyrs softly press ; 
While the sun with royal pride 

Robes their shades in fancy dress. 

Trees rejoice by vale and hill, 
Coaxing birds to come and build ; 

While the eagle swift and still 

By rough hewn crags is dailv thrilled. 

Rocks their silent face lift 
To the moon and laughing stars, 

Who, when'er the clouds art rift 
Kiss them soft with silver bars. 



Bvery Day 

Every day without complaining ; 

Every night without a sigh. 
Works she on her lot enobling. 

Sacrificed without a cry ! 

Every day takes he his burden ; 

Every night his duty done, 
All his life is for another — 

Noblest man beneath the sun ! 

Every day a little giving, 
Every night some battle won ; 

None can heed this lonely striving, 
She alone her round shall run ! 

Every day a little stronger; 

Every night a scar is left. 
Goes he yet his way, undaunted, 

Climbing bravely cleft by cleft ! 

Look we on the world in wonder. 
Only see the great and strong. 

While the truly grand and noble 
Go down, — still, without a song. 

By the cradle you will find them, 
You will find them with the plow. 

In the factory toiling daily — 

You can find them here and now. 

You will find them by the cradle 
Guiding destinies of men. 

When the world is all aslumber. 
Or with self beguiled again. 



Find them with the plow life earning, 
Turning sod for daily bread ; 

Journey they in places humble 
Mine and city — poor homestead. 

What the Ocean Sang 

Musing I was with my spirit, 

Somewhat dull and much oppressed. 

When the ocean called me gently : 
Come and listen, find some rest. 

Thither came I in my sorrow 

When the dawn brought forth the day 

And Night's curtain lifted slowly— 
Dawn now yields to light full sway. 

Rose the sun, soft clouds adorning, 
With its glory, splendor— bright. 

Kissed the waves into rejoicing. 
Made them glisten with delight. 

Came the wind and whispered softly : 
"Come, O waves, and dance with me , 

Till they rippled in sheer gladness. 
Laughed aloud in boundless glee. 

Birds took up the joyful music. 
Fain would each his heart declare; 

Flowers raised their thankful petals, 
Wafted fragrance to the air. 

Sang the ocean this old story. 
To the birds and flowers there, 

To the sun and to the dawning : 
Earth rejoiceth everywhere ! 

The Common and Unlearned 

I built that mansion great, you see, 

I, who must live in huttery ; 

I, who slaved early, long and late 

And formed that mansion grand and great — 

What have the dwellers therein done? 

They cut the wage of many a son ! 

I mined the coal that keeps it warm, 

I, who must freeze in winter's storm ; 

I, who in darkness toil and die, 

Make warm the hearths that they sleep by- 

What have the sleepers therein done? 

They wear the crowns that others won ! 



I, the food make on which they grow, 
I, who must starve and famished go; 
I, who must work at heat of day, 
Supply this house with feasting gay — 
What have the revelers therein done? 
They snatched the crumbs of the orphan ! 

I make the robes these dwellers wear. 
While mine own back is almost bare; 
I slave, and warm and feed and dress 
These loafers in their homeliness — 
What honors then to me returned? 
They call me common and unlearned! 

And can it be in this old place 
That builders have no dwelling space; 
That those who make the hearth so warm 
Are they that freeze when comes the storm; 
That those who bring the goods to feasts 
Are they that have of goods the least? 



My Library 

My library is my best friend. 

No other friend such good can send; 

No other friend can be to me 

A friend just like my library. 

When I am tired, weary, sad — 

It says the things which make me glad, 

It says them silently and still, 

Each thought it gives is with good will. 

When rough the world with all its noise 
Has robbed of me my resting poise. 
My library to me does bring 
The lost repose to which I cling. 

When friends say things that are unkind, 
It whispers, "friend, you never mind. 
Said I ever a hurting word : 
You think of me— the rest's unheard." 

When I a friend have lost I love. 
It sends to me a white peace dove: 
A message gives, friend, wear a smile. 
Much there is yet to hold worth while. 

When I to it for comfort come, 
It is not busy, gone, or glum; 
But freely gives, says, I am thine; 
I am its friend and it is mine. 



lyiberty 

I stood by a river swift and wide, 

The waters dark with blood were dyed. 

Whence came these waters? An angel said: 

They are the tears of orphans dead 

Whose bread was robbed— to a monster fed 

Who grew and thrived in their rightful stead. 

I stood by a chasin, wide and deep, 
Filled with hearts too hurt to weep. 
Whence came this chasm? A voice replied: 
'Twas cut from the hearts of wives who died ; 
Their loves were lost by a monster cruel 
Who grew and thrived on them as fuel. 

I stood by a barren stretch of plain, 
The sands were made of manhood slain. 
Whence came this desert? An angel read: 
They are the sands of men now dead, 
Caught in a snare by a sinister foe 
Who took their all, then told them go ! 

I stood by a ruins great and sad — 
The crumbling hopes of lass and lad. 
Whence came these ruins? An angel said: 
These are the ruins of hopes now dead. 
Crushed by a monster with awful means, 
Who caught the lads in their early teens. 

I stood by a graveyard, O, how drear ! 
The tablets had not a word of cheer. 
Whence this drear place? An angel cried: 
'Tis the end of mothers who have died,_ 
Whose sons were slain by this monster's might 
Who struck them down in their hopeless fight! 

Sir. what is this river, this chasm wide; 
This manhood slain; these hopes denied? 
This graveyard drear— and all this blight? 
'Tis the thing they call "my precious right," 
"My liberty," "my social cup" — 
Hold! I'm a man— my right yield up. 

A Church Episode 

One day a girl before me sat. 
In church the thing did happen, 

Upon her head perched high a hat ; 
Sprang from the crown a saplin'. 

On closer looking I did see 
A pine tree bravely growing, 

It swayed and nodded to agree 
With the hat her head was towing. 



Busy was I kept that hour 
Away from its limbs dodging, 

And often I was sure a branch 
Would in my eyes be lodging. 

But as it was a pine tree lone, 
My thought caught on this line : 

She must have read that little song 
"The trail of the lonesome pine.'" 

The Calls 

Wealth to a youth the world showed bright, 
Him showed her power and her might ; 
How kingdoms feared at her command, 
How she held sway in every land — 
He sold his soul his honor gave. 
Was lifted high for a short space — 
Then stumbled into dark disgrace. 

Fame to a young man called one day, 
Bring me thy strength, I will repay ; 
Give me thy love, thy life, thy youth, 
For I am all, I speak the truth — 
He brought her all his heart did crave, 
She gave him friends and a great name — 
And then he slipped, sank into shame. 

War to a soldier said one day, 
You follow me, I'll make a way, 
Close press behind me day and night, 
ril show you how to gain the height ; 
The height of fame and glory round — 
The soldier ran and followed hard — 
But died, forgotten, while on guard. 

Love with a young man walked one day, 

So still was she — such plain array 

He scarce could note her at his side ; 

Yet from that day made truth his guide, 

And though no fame or wealth he found 

But passed into a humble grave. 

All those who knew him called him brave ! 



The Rose and the Morning 

A rose grew by the roadside. 

And all the passersby 
Stopped to wonder at its fragrance, 

At it beauty stopped to spy ; 
But the rose with all its splendor. 

With its petals silky red. 
Would be dying in the summer, 

Before winter would be dead. 



8 



A spring morning filled with glowing, 

Waked the earth with joy sublime. 
Made the birds sing of their gladness, 

And the dew caress the vine ; 
But the morning with its glory 

In the heat of noon must die, 
And the birds would hush their carols 

Soon as night would touch the sky. 

Life is like the rose when blooming, 

Filled with peace and joy divine; 
But there comes a time of parting 

When the rose drops from the vine. 
Life is like the spring time morning. 

Glorious in the first bright rays ; 
Blit there comes a time of blasting, 

All the hopes lost by delays. 

But the rose that died in winter. 

And the morning slain by noon, 
Both came back in their own season, 

Put the world again in tune ; 
So our lives, too, like their brothers 

Take again their joys anew. 
And the chords that were all broken 

Make a chorus grand and true. 

Hold Fast 

Hold fast to your crown of courage. 
You will need it in the strife; 

Need it when the clouds have hidden 
All the sunshine from your life. 

Hold fast to your crown of kindness. 
It will make the day m^ore bright 

And will help you in your struggles, 
Help to make some load more light, 

Hold fast to your crown of friendship. 
You will need it on the road ; 

Need it when som.e one has faltered. 
Crushed beneath life's heavy load. 

Hold fast to your crown of patience, 
You will need it when delay 

Halts the thing that you most cherish. 
Tells it stop, and tells it stay. 

Hold fast to your crown of worship. 
You will need it on that day 

When the fates strike from your fingers 
All that you have loved of clay. 

Hold fast to your crown of trusting 
When the billows toss your bark: 

For to lose it at such moments. 
Leaves you in the blackest dark. 



Hold fast to your faith in mankind, 
You will need it on that day 

When they rush in at each other 
Dim your faith by smoke and fray. 



A Flower 

A flower by the roadside grew 
And no one seemed to care, 

Or stop to note its fragrance. 
Or caress its petals fair. 

Yet the flower bloomed unfailing. 
Though the dust fell on its face, 

Hiding all its lovely beauty ; 
Buried all its natural grace. 

Bloomed on through nights of darkness, 
Bloomed on in heat of day. 

Bloomed when the rains were falling. 
Bloomed till it passed away. 

Surely it was meant that flowers 

Should whisper in my ear : 
"Never mind how you are buried, 

There is some one you can cheer." 

Surely it was meant that flowers 
Should sing along life's weary way. 

Making music of the whispers : 
After darkness comes the day. 



"Who Is This? 

Who is this with tender hand 
Lifting up the wounded man, 
Sending him upon his way — 
Taking for his care no pay, 
Trying not his fame to claim ? 
Jesus, Jesus, is his name. 

Who is this with listening ear, 
Bending low and giving cheer, 
Moving through this world of woe, 
Naught but comfort does bestow; 
Pausing not to tell his fame? 
Jesus, Jesus, is his name. 

Who is this that sheds these tears. 
The orphan's home so kindly rears. 
The friendless welcomes to his heart ; 
Wrecks the world has set apart : 
Weary, too, he oft must be? 
'Tis the Christ of Galilee. 



10 



Who is he at this graveside, 

Weeps as though his friend had died, 

Shedding tears for stranger's woe, 

While his own unheeded go, 

Never telling his own loss, 

'Tis the Jesus of the Cross. 

Who is this the world decried, 
Shame and sin with him allied, 
Struck a spear into his side — 
Spurned and smitten, slain, denied. 
Yet forgave them ere he died? 
Jesus Christ the crucified ! 



I/ife is More Than Dreaming 

Life is more than just some dreaming. 
More than paths with roses strewn ; 

It is lifting up with kindness — 

Planting life where once was ruin. 

Life is more than merry laughter, 

More than thoughts of mirth and fun ; 

It is struggling ever upward, 
Struggling till the race is run. 

Life is more than love's sweet story. 
More than sweetheart's tender song; 

It is fighting — not for glory. 
But for right against the wrong. 

Life is more than many kisses. 
More than lover's long embrace ; 

It is keeping up our courage. 
Keeping sunshine on our face. 

Life is dreaming, life is laughter; 

Life is love's sweet story sung ; 
And a chance to see how bravely 

You can stand with colors flung ! 



Thoughts 

Right thoughts are the soldiers. 

Grand guards of, the soul 
That fight for our futures. 

Capture for us the goal. 
Wrong thoughts are the soldiers ; 

Foes honorless, cruel. 
That crush out our futures, 

And make us the tool ! 



11 

Foundations are shaken, 

Fine mansions torn down ; 
Great forts of protection 

Razed low to the ground ; 
Homes that gave comfort, 

Green bowers of rest — 
All swept into nothing 

By thoughts that oppressed. 

But deserts shall blossom, 

Sad places rejoice; 
Dark shall be brightened. 

The dumb gain a voice ; 
Shouts shall be heard, 

Blessed music shall ring, 
"Where thoughts that are right 

Reign supreme as a king. 



Will you open the eyes of the blind, O Lord? 

And loosen the tongue of the dumb, 
And the ears of the deaf your music accord, 

And the dead from the tomb let them come. 

For many their eyes do not see 

The beauties that round them abound, 

Who are blind with their grief and their fears, 
Stricken down by their sins to the ground. 

For many their tongues will not sing, 
Being dumb for the gall in the soul : 

For the love that in life did not spring, 
Being killed by their haste for the goal. 

For many have ears that are closed 
To the music that floats on the air; 

The clatter of fame and of pelf 

Having closed them in silent despair. 

For many are dead to the strife. 

No power to move or to feel, 
Having lost what was fine in their life 

By the grinding turn of the wheel. 

Will you open the eyes of the blind. 
And loosen the tongue of the dumb. 

And the ears of the deaf now unstop. 

And the dead from the tomb let them come. 

Worry 

Worry from the first has been. 

Had it? foul birth T think in sin ; 

In garments lurked that were quite bright 

Where first our parents saw the light. 

And has not ceased until this day 

To rob and cheat and steal away 

The strength you need to meet the fray. 



12 

In cups of joy it pours decay, 

And darkens much the brightest ray. 

It springs upon you when you pray, 

Your peace destroys— it cannot stay. 

Your hopes it kills by long delay. 

Your tongue strikes dumb when you would say 

The word that might some grief allay. 

And often, too, there fell a tear 

When things it stole you held so dear; 

And often, too, a hurt did ache 

From wounds it made when bones it break ; 

And things that you most sacred hold 

It has defiled, has cheaply sold; 

It's cruel, and heartless, careless, bold! 

From trembling hands it strikes the grand, 
The hard earned crown falls to the sand ; 
And tongues that silvery music poured 
Are now quite still or all discord; 
And eyes that once could beauty see, 
And hearts that felt much sympathy. 
Are dull and sick of misery. 



Once my life could pick no flowers 
Growing on the great highway; 

Found there naught but thorns and briars. 
Broken sticks, and useless clay. 

Now my life is not so bitter; 

Not my soul so full of gall : 
Blossoms that shall never wither, 

Grow where I renounced my all. 

Once my life could see no sunshine 

On this verdant field of life, 
Only saw the blasting mildew 

Knawing hearts, and causing strife. 

Now my life is not so bitter, 

Now my life is not so sad : 
For I found the healing sunshine. 

Found it making others glad. 

Once my life could find no water 
For the thirst that parched rny soul, 

Made me tired, sick and languid. 
Cursing hard the longed for goal. 

Now my life is not so thirsty; 

Not so parched by selfish gain : 
For I found the quenching waters 

Where I dug for fame a drain. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




